


Precious

by CrazyChicken



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, basically bullshit, basically everything, post-transfer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyChicken/pseuds/CrazyChicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been like this for the past twelve months (playing, winning, fucking, and not necessarily in that order) and they wouldn't want it any other way. But July is dooming ahead and it won't be like this forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precious

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to write smut after victories, and this I was inspired by the matches against Real Madrid (home and away) during the CL semi-finals, and a little bit by pictures of Dortmund's training where Kevin was looking at Marco's ass.
> 
> This is just complete shit and I have absolutely no excuse for that. Also, I am aware of the fact that the whole bus-thing makes no sense because I realised too late it was a home game, but yeah just enjoy the sex.
> 
> And pls dont judge me by the first part, it gets slightly better.
> 
> I am really sorry and if you read this I will try to make you creme brulee

_April, 24th  
Dortmund_

Robert could feel a thousand hands patting his shoulders, or maybe it just felt that way because of the adrenaline. He felt the heat of his teammates’ bodies around him, as they accompanied him into the bus. Ilkay had an arm around his waist and he felt Nuri’s mouth near his ear, whispering inaudible words as the Polish star made his way over to his favourite spot: the broad bench in the back of the bus. When he looked up, however, he found his favourite seat taken: Mario was sitting there, fast asleep with his head on Marco’s shoulder. The latter smiled up at Robert, and it could have been a defiant smile ( _I dare you to steal this seat_ ) but he knew it was a plea ( _please let Mario and me be for this moment_ ). Robert felt sorry for him, and he could have been angry or mean, but instead he pointed at two empty seats in the front, pushed Nuri in first, and then took his seat next to his Turkish friend. He felt just like a young boy as his teammates settled around him, high-fiving and cheering and hugging each other. The hero of the evening. He still kept stealing glances at the back of the bus every now and then, where he saw Mario and Marco confirming what he had already suspected: Mario wasn’t asleep at all.

As soon as the attention had been drawn to many other things, Mario had stopped pretending he was asleep. His head was still on Mario’s shoulder, but now it was making familiar movements, and Robert could tell that Mario was _sucking_ on Marco’s neck. He had to admit it wasn’t the first time he witnessed then in a situation like that, but the last time he did he had accidentally walked in on them in the showers when they thought they were alone; this time they couldn’t possibly be thinking that nobody could see them, right?

 

“I think Lew is staring at us,” Marco whispered as he looked at Robert with half-closed eyelids.

“Again?” Mario asked between quick kisses, pressing his leg against his boyfriends and caressing the inside of his thighs. “He’s kind of hot for you, isn’t he.”

“Hell no,” Marco answered, swallowing the _I’ll never let anyone be hot for me but you_ that was on the tip of his tongue. His voice was raw and hot and Mario couldn’t help running his fingers up Marco’s body. When his hands disappeared under his lover’s T-shirt, Marco moved to pull them away, but his actions were half-hearted, because, to be honest, there was nothing in the world he wanted more than this, right here, right now. It had been so long since they had been like this, both passionate and romantic and just _intimate_. He had missed it, missed the Mario that had been so absent last weeks, had missed the Mario that stole glances and touches and kisses whenever he could get them. And here he was right back, fondling his body with those precious hands and making him shiver everytime he bit a piece of sensitive skin in his neck. Their breathings and heartbeats and the sound of their clothes rubbing against one another drowned out the cheers of their teammates. When Mario lifted his head he looked up into Marco’s eyes, beautiful and loving and finally happy again. This man was so incredibly amazing, was entirely his and the thought alone made him grow hard. Not even the thought of sex or nudity; just Marco’s eyes did something to him he could never explain.

Marco grinned his crooked little grin and entangled their fingers, pulling Mario out of the bus into the dark night sky. Although it had become colder, the weather was still nice enough. Robert shouted some comments at them, about how they were always together and recommending them to use protecting; because as much as he was a loyal friend, he could also be a gigantic douche bag. Mario just waved at them, shaking his head as he felt Marco pinch his hand. Without words they walked the last part to Marco’s apartment, down the road they both knew so well.

The moment they were inside and the door was closed, Marco pressed his lover against the door, pinning down his wrist above his head, and leaned in for a rough kiss, drawing soft moans from Mario’s mouth. He teased him, sucked on his lip, rolled his hips and held him down, not yet allowing Mario’s tongue.

When Marco rolled his hips a second time, harder this time, Mario broke off the kiss to pant a few curses and catch his breath. How the fuck he had gotten so out of breath was a mystery to him. “Fuck, Marco. Just... fuck.”

There were many comments circling around the back of Marco’s head, about his state and his vocabulary, but when he saw Mario’s opened mouth and the little drops of sweat just above his brow, he couldn’t think about how to form words. He could only think of how unfair, how _unnatural_ it was to him that their bodies weren’t intertwined, that he couldn’t feel Mario inside of him at that moment, or bury himself deep inside his lover. That he couldn’t feel their bodies filling each other up in this moment. Even with their bodies pressed together, the distance was making him feel like that: incomplete.

“Yeah... fuck,” Marco breathed against Mario’s skin. He didn’t take the time to properly kiss him, but just leant his face against Mario’s, breathing in the scent of his shower gel and his sweat, and there was a faint smell of sex on him too. It was like everytime Mario was feeling aroused, he smelled differently. It was one of those things Marco found so extremely hot about Mario.

“Bedroom... now,” Marco panted, letting go of Mario’s arms, that quickly found their way around Marco’s body. In an attempt to hug and walk and make love at the same time, they stumbled over their own feet until they reached Marco’s king-sized bed and dropped down on it, Mario on top, quickly dominating the kiss he planted on Marco’s lips.

Mario grabbed two fistfuls of fabric in his hands, as if he refused to ever let go. Marco’s tight shirt ended up on the floor and was soon accompanied by Mario’s. The latter moved his lips away from his lover’s mouth, kissing down his neck noisily, and lower, biting on his collarbone, moving down over his chest and sucking on a nipple, feeling it getting harder every second. He felt Marco tug roughly at his hair and remembered how much he liked it when he did that. Trying to get some control, yet never truly dominating.

When Mario’s mouth found his favourite spot in Marco’s neck again, the blonde let his hands wander off, grazing his nails along Mario’s back and leaving his hands on his butt, touching him in a tentative way. He then moved his hands up between their bodies, stroking Mario through his jeans. The latter moved at the unexpected touch, but quickly recovered to settle in a comfortable position. “Don’t...” he breathed, barely aware of what he wanted to say. “Let me...” He gently pushed Marco’s hands away as he shifted on Marco’s lap, sitting back a little so their crotches were touching and moving together. He loved the way Marco’s eyes rolled up just before he closed them in pleasure. Mario leaned down to reward Marco’s body with kisses, his lips and tongue moving down his stomach, until he paused at his hips. Moving a little to the right, Mario sucked on his hipbone, that precious little part of Marco’s body that was so sexual to Mario. He realised he had crossed a tiny line when he backed off and saw a neat, purple mark, standing out on Marco’s pale skin. He licked his tongue across the visible proof of his affection in a soothing way, before moving to Marco’s button and zipper. He could feel Marco harden against his hand.

“Mario...” Marco whispered, his voice soft as if he were afraid that anything might break if he spoke too loudly. His hands thoughtlessly found their way into Mario’s hair, rolling his fingers through it, pushing and pulling as Mario kissed every inch of skin he could get as he slowly pulled down his pants and boxers at the same time.

Tossing his own disposed clothes aside he watched Mario take off his own in a record time. That was another very precious thing about Mario: his ability to undress quicker than the speed of light.

Their bodies collided hard but their lips met gently. The kiss was slow, but passionate, built up in a way that drove both guys crazy. Mario liked to lick his tongue over Marco’s lips, asking for permission. His hands were everywhere, discovering every piece of skin, as if he hadn’t already done that months ago. He knew Marco’s body so well he swore he could make it into a sculpture with his eyes closed.

When he backed off again, he had his hands on the bed on either side of Marco’s head and pushed himself up to the perfect distance to look him in the eye. They were panting from the intimacy from this moment, not from the sexual movements. All this time, there had never been a moment that was about sex; it had always been just about love.

“I missed you,” Marco said, stroking his thumbs on either side of Mario’s precious face. From the look in his eyes, Mario could easily tell he didn’t just mean physically; he meant the Mario that should have been there for Marco when he needed him the most, but wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Mario said, feeling guilt press down on the ambiance of the evening.

“Why?” Marco smiled, innocent and naïve. _Precious._

“Because it’s only just started.”

Marco’s face clouded over, but he washed it away by saying: “If you mean we still have the entire night before us, I’m fine with it.” His slender fingers played with the tiny hairs on the back of Mario’s neck.

_No, it’s not. It’s going to get so much worse for both of us_ , Mario thought, but he knew that Marco was right: this moment might just be way more important than all the red years to follow.

 

_April 30th  
Madrid_

As passionate as Marco had been the week before (both during and after the game), he was distracted now. The first fifteen minutes had been just fine, but then he had to watch Mario go and for some reason it felt like he was leaving behind so much more than just the pitch. Ever since he saw his best friend disappear into the tunnel, he couldn’t think of much else. He saw the ball, the grass, the players, but he didn’t think; all his movements were made automatically, his decisions unconsciously. His feet knew where to go approximately, but his head wasn’t there; which was why he often missed just a meter or two to receive a pass properly. He noticed it just a second too late, everytime again, because he couldn’t focus on the game like he usually could.

It was all because of Mario, he knew. He also knew he shouldn’t be this distracted about his lover, because he was a professional footballer, and professionalism was being able to separate your work from your private life; but the way Mario the love of his life and Mario his teammate had intertwined made it impossible for Marco to ever think about one without thinking about the other.

Half-time came and nothing had really happened, except, apparently, Robert making friends with a certain Real Madrid player. As soon as Jürgen had most of his talking done, Marco was cornered by Mario, who wore a stern expression on his face.

“Don’t do this,” Mario said right away.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t lose your mind over me.”

It could have sounded arrogant out of any other mouth – a Bayern mouth, for example – but out of his it was only the truth.

“Believe me, I’ve been trying not to for years.” It was meant as a joke, but Mario didn’t laugh. He hadn’t laughed in a while, Marco realised.

“Promise me,” Mario whispered, his eyes weary. Marco knew he wasn’t going to like what his boyfriend was about to say, but he also knew that there was no way he could turn him down; the way his voice was breaking was pursuing enough.

“Promise me,” Mario repeated softly, “that you don’t weep over me tonight. I’m fine, as you can see. I’m alive. I smile!” He smiled, but at the same time he didn’t. “I’m not going anywhere.” _For now_ , he added in his head. “Promise me that you won’t miss me on the pitch, that you just go out there and make some pretty goals. Make me proud.”

He was obviously waiting for Marco’s reply, looking at him a look that was both sad and happy, disappointed and encouraging and lovely and proud. “I promise,” Marco vowed in a whisper.

 

During the second half, things only got worse. Marco couldn’t get his thoughts off the look in Mario’s eyes. The hurt and the comfort; how, surprisingly, everything was there. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he didn’t want to let go, but he didn’t want to keep Mario either if it meant keeping him from achieving what he had always dreamt of. It was a cruel paradox; he needed Mario more than anything, but he couldn’t stop fate from interrupting.

The game became kind of messy. It wasn’t good or great or pretty, but it was football, with its German efficiency. A goal or two would have been nice, but even with a 0-0 draw they would be in the finals. If they could have kept this up for another fifteen, everything would have been just fine. But of course, it could not be just fine, and the Spaniards made them sweat all the way into the long extra time.

Marco knew they were _this_ close to watching Wembley slip away again, and that it was partly his fault, but when Webb’s final whistle finally sounded, all those thoughts washed away. There was only this moment and, despite the loss, the victory. No matter how many chances they had screwed up, they were in the finals. A done deal. The underdogs had beaten the pack leader.

The familiar feelings of adrenaline rushing through his veins after a sweet (almost unexpected) victory made him feel like everything was alright again. It was one of those moments everybody has once a while, in which bad thoughts simply don’t exist, and neither do present and past. There was little more than euphoria and blasting ears and smiles, shouts and dancing, magic in the air.

Before he knew it, Marco was with Robert, hugging him down on the ground, and then on top of him and for one moment it felt so good, like this was what he was born for and like he should never let go of this precious body. But then Robert looked into his eyes (so near, so excited) and Marco realised it wasn’t Mario. And then the magic was gone, the blasting ears and the smiles and the euphoria, and the thoughts came rushing back to him, reminding him of the fact that this wasn’t forever, and even glory ended. And soon, Mario would not be here at all.

He still smiled, because they had still won, and he still partied with his teammates, but the smile began and ended with his lips. There were a few things more important than winning the Champions League. One thing, to be exact.

 

“You made it,” Mario whispered into Marco’s ear as the latter was sucking on the red skin in his neck. Of course he noticed the fact that Mario didn’t say ‘we’ but he refused to let this night become a sad and serious one, so instead of replying he bit down, making his lover yelp. He could feel ten sharp nails dig into his shoulder blades, and he usually didn’t like red scars on his back, but these ones were precious to him; in fact, Marco wished he could keep them forever, red and burning, reminding him of the passion even when Mario was worlds away.

Once upon a time they used to turn on the radio when they were about to make love, to make the awkward silences more comfortable, or to hide the uneasy noises, but now the sounds were all part of the love, of the game; the silence made the blood rush through Mario’s ears, making him feel dizzy and about to lose his consciousness; the low, almost soundless moans Marco made during the foreplay that told Mario that what was he doing was good, was fucking great, yet that he didn’t want to give in that easily. All these little things were theirs, their little noises that could sometimes be more intense than the sex itself.

Mario tried to focus on the mere sounds instead of on his wet, red mouth that was quickly making its way down his chest, not biting or sucking or kissing or licking, but a strange small combination of all four. It found his left nipple and closed around it, and Marco started to suck softly. Mario could hear the wet sounds on bare skin, could hear his own breathing in the cold air, and Marco’s quick gasps through his nose. One quick inhale through the side of his mouth as he shifted, and then his hand on Mario’s stomach. His fingers were cold, but his palms were burning up.

Then another familiar kind of sound started: the erotic sound of undressing. Marco clenching the fabric of his jeans between his left fist, bringing the other hand to the button. Softly, nearly inaudible, he undid it with a silent _pop_ ; then one of Mario’s favourites: the pleasure of hearing his lover slowly taking down his zipper, his hand so close his crotch it was killing him. His fingers were so near, should be able to feel his hardness by now, yet they weren’t quite touching him. They were keeping their distance in a way that made Marco yet again scratch his nails over Mario’s back.

“Fuck,” he whispered without planning to do so. The sound escaping his mouth broke the silence-that-wasn’t-quite-silent.

“What do you want?” Mario panted as he moved his head back up, his hands following along his sides. “Tell me,” he hissed, creating some distance between them and roughly pushing his hips down.

Marco looked back at him for a second before his answering; his eyes were filled with lust, some desperate kind of lust, mixed with something else. It may have been love, but Mario couldn’t quite define it.

“ _You_.” Marco’s voice broke as he said the simple word, almost as if it were a plea. But it wasn’t, Mario knew, and he also knew it wasn’t just dirty talk. He wanted Mario, every part of his body and soul. He wanted him mentally and physically. He wanted him to just be there, even when he wasn’t. _Even when I’m in Munich_ , a little voice in the back of Mario’s head told him. _After everything, he still believes in me. In me._

At the sound of Marco’s voice, Mario broke too. He kissed Marco on the mouth with a passion he had never known; it was a messy kiss, ugly and unfocussed. When Mario ripped Marco’s and his own clothes off, it wasn’t very pretty as well, but it was full of emotion. The part of him that wanted to go and lift trophies was fighting with the part that wanted to stay here, just lay in this bed forever. Time would pass and trophies would be lifted, but they would just lay here, not make a move, not even share a kiss, just let another good year pass, and everything would be okay. The fact that it was all too late for that drove Mario to kiss Marco with all the passion he had; which was, to be honest, quite a lot. And the thought that, maybe, if he loved Marco hard enough, there would be a possibility that it had all been a dream and he was still in high school and they were just falling in love and stealing glances and going to each other’s places every day. That, if he kissed his lips until they bled and fucked him until he screamed and made love until he fainted, he still had every decision in front of him, and none made wrong in his past. That if he loved Marco enough, it didn’t have to be over.

 

_July 3rd  
Dortmund_

It didn’t really go according to plan. Nothing had gone exactly the way Marco had planned it, once upon a time eighteen months ago; but then again, he had been twenty-two at the time, and what had he known of life back then?

Marco brushed the wet hair out off his face. His eyes were still burning, despite the shower he had just taken. The towel was wrapped tight around his hips and once upon a time, someone would be there in his bedroom to make some comment about it before pulling it down. Back then he had found it pretty annoying at times that every shower led to sex, but he missed it now. Not really the sex, if he were honest. Just the feeling of hands all over his body the moment he entered the room, the warmth of being wanted, his presence.

It had been tough during training today. Not only physically – although he could tell he was out of breath way too fast already – but it felt unnatural in his head as well. Arriving at the training grounds without Mario sharing his car because, to be honest, when did he not sleep in Marco’s bed? Warming up without Mario and running across the field without Mario, and then doing exercises with the teammates he had grown to love this year, but none of them were Mario. Looking over his shoulder to see if Mario was anywhere checking out his ass when he bent forward. And every time again he was welcomed by the painful reminder that Mario wasn’t _there_.

Marco bit his lip as he opened his closet. He had no idea what to wear, which was stupid because he had so many clothes, but what was the point of getting dress if there was no one to dress for? He picked up the black Nike shirt he had laid out on his chair a few days earlier. He did not buy that shirt, that much he knew. It didn’t smell like the washing powder he was using at the moment, but it definitely smelled familiar. He had seen it on Mario’s body many times and it looked best on him too, but Marco planned on wearing it anyway some time, because did it really matter who’s shirt it was? ‘Everything I own is yours’, Mario had once said, but it meant ‘everything I am is yours’, and Marco had sworn that moment he would forever take care of his most precious possession. Did the fact he was gone mean that he had failed?

He sighed, putting the shirt aside. It had been a crazy year, wild and crazy and everything running at him at once at hundred miles an hour. A year of hurricanes and love and late night fights. One year of Mario. And looking back, it was worth everything he had given.

Marco grinned, pushing his nose into the fabric of the shirt again. God, he missed Mario. His smell and his smile and the way he could always make Marco feel better and the fact that he was just _Mario_ , like every single thing about him was just too perfect and yet it all belonged to Marco and that was crazy. He brought his fingers to his lips as if he could still feel his touch burn there. Sometimes he woke up and his lips would tingle, but he knew the feeling would fade with time.

He would learn to live with the pain, he knew he would, but it felt like the most impossible thing to do. It was weird, because it didn’t feel like he was gone at all. It just felt like Mario was a little late for their appointment, or helping his mother out with the household, or buying some desert because half of Marco’s fridge had expired. It felt like he was just around the corner instead of on the other side of Germany, and when he thought about that, thought about the hours of distance separating them, he found it hard to breathe.

He donned some clothes, and eventually the black shirt too. Every now and then he closed his eyes and breathed in deep, pretending he was still there.

Robert sent him a text about Mario that didn’t really cheer him up and he didn’t reply, but as he clicked the message away, his background lit up, that wide smile and his happiness about whatever had been so great at the time, his bright eyes and all the things he missed so much.

Marco didn’t even feel the first tear role down his cheek, but soon enough both cheeks were drenched again. He didn’t sob or cry; there were only quiet tears and calm sadness, but it broke him up inside all the same, and he knew there was only one person to glue him back together again. As he swiped his fingers across his phone to call Mario, the screen went to _incoming call_.

 

_July 3rd  
Munich_

It didn’t really go according to plan. He was still injured and couldn’t participate in the next few weeks of training. The players were nice to him, which was a good thing, and he was happy to have Toni and Fabian there with him as well, but because he couldn’t be there during the first few training sessions, he was afraid he would fall out of place anyway. For most of his lives he had known only one club, one team, one place where he trained. Red was a brand new colour and he wasn’t sure if he would get used to it any time soon, despite what he liked to say to the media. Of course, this was a great step in his career, but he was also afraid that he wouldn’t fit in, wouldn’t find his place like he used to, would never be a true Bavarian, because he could never give it all; he was so afraid there would always be a part of him that was yellow, keeping him from giving it everything. He was keeping a straight face all the time, telling even his brother and his closest friends that he was excited about the move and that he was looking forward to start playing with his new teammates, but the truth was that he was scared as hell.

He sank down on his bed, took a few deep breaths, but his chest hurt and it felt like there was something stuck his throat and his stomach hurt and his mouth was dry and his eyes were burning and it definitely didn’t feel good. In a way of distracting himself he tried to remember if he had ever been in this hotel before, maybe on one of the days they had played against Bayern, but he couldn’t recall it.

He dropped back on the bed, so he was lying on his back, bringing his hands up to his forehead in frustration. Many scenarios of his close future flashed through his head, but none of them were good. Somehow they always ended with a lot of people hating him for one reason or another. And then it hit him that that wasn’t a possible future: it was the actual present. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last time when someone had told him that they truly _liked_ him. He understood most of it, to be honest. He was a jerk who had made a mess of quite a few things, but he couldn’t be hated by _everyone_ , right?

He thought of that one person that he was sure about and reached for his phone. He typed in the number he knew by heart, too lazy to look up his name in the long list of contacts. It barely rang once before Marco picked up, forcing a raw but loveable ‘hey’ out of his mouth.

“Hey,” Mario replied, smiling. He could feel his whole world light up as soon as he heard his lover’s voice. “How are you?”

It was kind of a stupid question to ask after all they had been through, Mario realised when it remained silent for a long time.

“Marco?” he asked when he doubted he was still there, wondering if he had said anything wrong.

“I...” A creaky noise escaped from the back of Marco’s throat before he continued. “I miss you,” he admitted. “You?”

“I’m scared.” Mario kept silent. There had been so much to say, but now that they were actually on the phone he had no idea what to talk about.

“I know,” Marco said softly after a pause and it sent a shiver through Mario’s spine.

“Please keep talking,” he sighed as he closed his eyes. He was aware of how needy he must have sounded, but he wanted the sound of voice so badly. He could pretend that Marco was wrapping his arms around him at night, could smell him in the white shirt he stole from his closet before he left, could listen to his CD’s on repeat, and remember their best moments, but he always missed his voice.

“Wha... what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t care,” Mario replied quick and breathily. “Just... tell me about today’s training. How’s Klopp doing? Has Kevin made any nasty comments yet?”

Marco rolled his eyes and smiled. “Ugh, he was terribly annoying today.”

Mario’s couldn’t take the smile of his face for a single second as he listened closely to Marco telling tales about his former teammates. Every line that Marco quoted seemed so real, and Mario could just _hear_ Kevin make that remark on Marco’s ass. Mario kept asking Marco things, making him continue every time he fell silent, until Marco had told him everything about his day, from breakfast to “...so I wanted to call you but then you called me.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Mario laughed.

“I’m not, I swear,” Marco assured him. “So how’s Munich?”

Mario’s smile faded at last. “Lonely,” he answered. “Cold. Scary. Big. And very, very lonely.”

“Isn’t Fabian there?”

“Yeah... but you know. He’s great, but he’s not you.”

He could hear Marco holding his breath on the other side of the line.

“You know, he’s nice company and he makes me breakfast sometimes and it’s cool I have him, but we’re not like you and I used to be... are, I mean. How you and I are.” Mario held his breath too as he closed his eyes and from the soft gasp he heard, he could tell Marco had closed his too. “How you wrap your arms around me at night. Like we’re two pieces of the same puzzle and when we intertwine the whole picture makes sense again.”

“Don’t...” Marco whimpered but at the same his heart was screaming _Do! Do! Do!_

“I miss you,” Mario said, slowly and softly after a long pause. He wanted to touch Marco so badly, like this phone call had only made things worse and he really couldn’t stand being alone anymore, because his mere voice had reminded him of all the things he had to miss now.

“I know,” Marco said. Mario heard Marco’s doorbell ring and then Marco shifted from his seat – Mario could tell it was his bed by the sound it made.

“Mario, I think Robert’s at the door.”

Mario laughed, remembering the stories Marco had just told him about how Robert kept on texting him useless facts and questions as if begging for attention, and how Marco had ignored all of them, probably receiving another dozen while talking to Mario on the phone.

“It’s okay, I’ll hang up. Have fun with him!”

“Thanks.”

It remained silent and Mario didn’t hang up.

“Mario?”

“Yes?”

“Can you call me back tonight at ten or something? When you’re alone, I mean. Not that you’re not alone right now, but just... I mean, when you’re... well... you know?”

Mario grinned as he imagined the blush on Marco’s cheeks, and then the blush in his neck and down his chest and _fuck_... those were nice things to think of. “Alone in bed, you mean.”

“Yeah... Well, if you want to, of course. You don’t have to, I mean, you can live your own life there and just have fun and you don’t have to call me... no, who am I to tell you who to call? I’m just saying...”

“I will be there, I promise,” Mario said, which maybe wasn’t the best choice of words because he wouldn’t be _there_ , he would be _here_. But maybe part of him would also be _there_.

“Oh,” Marco sounded a bit taken aback by the response, as if he had expected Mario to say no or scream at him or anything. “Cool. Okay, gotta go now. I’ll... I’ll speak to you later.”

“Can’t wait,” Mario whispered into the mouthpiece before ending the call.

He realised he had been focussing too much on the past and the future and all the things he couldn’t change in the present. He grinned as he realised there were plenty ways to survive this.

 

Just in time, Robert left at nine forty-five. Marco had been so afraid Robert would decide to invite himself over to stay for the night, but was relieved when he announced it was time to go home. He dimmed the lights and made himself comfortable on his bed as he waited for Mario to call.

As the clock struck ten, he heard his phone ring and he picked up with a flirtatious ‘hey babe’.

“Marco. I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He tugged at his clothes, a little nervous, and for a moment he considered backing out because the last time they had tried this it had been a giant disaster and what if he would screw up again? But then Mario’s voice interrupted his worries.

“What are you wearing?”

Marco giggled a little. “Is that how you start phone sex?”

“Shut up and get back to the business.”

“We haven’t even started!” Marco yelled back and he started to panic because this wasn’t going right at all.

“Okay.” Mario took a deep breath. “But really, what are you wearing? I can’t imagine you if I don’t know what you’re wearing, because I know what you look like underneath, but...”

“ _Ja, ja_ , I get your point.” Marco swallowed hard as he looked down. “I’m eh... I’m wearing a black Nike shirt.”

“Mine?”

“Well... yes.”

“Cool, keep it.”

When he stayed silent, Marco realised he should continue. “Also those dark tight jeans you love so much. And blue boxers.”

Marco could practically hear him grinning on the other side. “The light blue D&G ones?”

“Hm-hm.”

Mario sighed a little.

“And what about you?” Marco asked, more like they were talking about what they had had for dinner, than like they were in the middle of phone sex foreplay.

“Ehm, nothing,” Mario answered. “I... I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you, I just... I wouldn’t want you to wait for me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Marco said and he shivered at the thought of Mario lying naked on his bed, feeling his cock twitch between his legs.

“Take off your shirt,” Mario commanded. “Pretend it’s me doing it. Quick and rough.”

Marco put the phone on speaker so he wouldn’t miss a single second, before he threw it on his pillow and took off his shirt. His fingers reached for his pants as he pulled the phone closer to his mouth again. “I need you,” he groaned softly, his voice surprisingly hoarse. “I need your hands on my body.”

“I am there,” Mario replied, voice raw as well. “Imagine I’m... I’m sucking your neck, yeah? I’m licking from your ear down to that spot you like so much...”

“Mmm,” Marco moaned just in time as he let his hands wander down his own neck.

“And then lower, one hand on your hip and my lips on your chest, teasing the skin around your nipple, and then I suck on it.”

“And your tongue,” Marco added as he touching himself according to Mario’s instructions. He wetted his fingers a little with his own saliva to make the sensation even more real.

Mario groaned. “Yeah, tongue.”

“And my hands are in your hair. I’m pulling at it softly, guiding you in the right directions.”

Mario moaned softly in agreement, as if he could actually feel Marco’s fingers pulling at his short hair. “I can’t stand it anymore, so I take your clothes off.”

Marco tried to be as quick on his pants as Mario always was, but it took him frustratingly long to yank them down. He could hear Mario’s breath growing louder and less rhythmic and knew he was touching his own cock, and Marco couldn’t really stand that thought. He wanted to be the one doing that, touching him, making him moan his name softly, his warm breath against his ear. He tried to be quicker with his underwear, eager to touch himself and pretend it was Mario. It took way too long again. He had to work on that, he thought sullenly. Or maybe not. Maybe that light-speed-undressing thing was one thing that only Mario could do. Maybe being that fast was Mario’s specialty and it would only work when they were truly, _physically_ together. Suddenly, Marco couldn’t wait until that moment arrived again. They would play Bayern soon enough in the Supercup and Marco could feel his entire body tremble as he longed for that moment, when he could feel the weight of Mario’s body on his again, lick the sweat of his skin and run his fingers through his hair and watch his face as he enjoyed every movement Marco made and look into his eyes and the beautiful way they shone and his body clenching tight around him and his mouth and _god_...

“Mario,” Marco groaned softly. There were tears in his eyes again, because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be together and touching, not pretending. “I... I need you. I need your lips around my cock.”

“And I need your cock in my mouth.”

Marco’s brains couldn’t really process that sentence like they normally would, even though Mario was just rephrasing what he had just said. He could only feel his entire body reacting to the rawness in his voice, and the pit of stomach started to knot.

“Mario,” Marco moaned again. His eyes were closed, and if he focussed really hard, he could feel Mario next to him, on him, all over him. “I’m... I’m close.” He paused his movements uncertainly. “What do I do now?”

“Keep – going.” Mario obviously had trouble speaking. “Come.”

Marco did as he was told, and didn’t withhold his own screams. He knew Mario liked it when he was loud during sex, and now that sounds were all they shared, it seemed even more important to vocally appreciate him. He came over his own stomach, with Mario’s lips in mind, his muscles tensing before they all relaxed. For a single moment, as his head was still spinning and his brains didn’t function well, he was back in one of those blissful moments where he would open his eyes, looking up to a sleepy or dangerous or satisfied expression on Mario’s face, but when he opened them, there was no one. The room was quiet, except for the clock ticking, the soft buzz of the fridge, and his own breathing and Mario’s over the phone.

They both caught their breaths for a full minute, no noise over the telephone line, except quick pants. Soon enough they faded and the silence fell and Marco didn’t really know who should speak up first. He felt his cheeks burn and his forehead glow, when eventually he said: “That was great.”

Mario stayed silent a few moments and Marco was afraid he had passed out, but then he spoke. “No, not really.”

He was very honest and now that Marco thought about it, he was also right. Looking back, all the orgasms Mario had given had been were mind-blowing, no matter what kind of sex they had. He thought of the hot and passionate ones, where they had finally gotten their relief after hours of foreplay and delaying. He thought of the dirty blowjobs in even dirtier toilets, and quick handjobs. He thought of his bedroom, and Mario’s bedroom, but also his kitchen and the showers and hotel rooms and the pool. He thought of the few rare times when Mario had awaked him in the middle of night, hard and horny, and they had made love half asleep. There wasn’t a single time when he hadn’t felt mind-blown and overwhelmed and just _complete_.

But with his fist clenched around his own cock, he realise this had been none of that all. It was just a stupid orgasm, enough, but not truly satisfactory.

“I know,” Marco admitted at last. “I want you here.”

“I want me there too.” Mario sighed.

It remained silent for a couple of minutes, because there wasn’t much to say. They had both realised that nothing would be the same when they weren’t together. For the past twelve months they had always been together, and now all of a sudden they were both alone together, and masturbating wasn’t enough anymore, because they needed each other. And Marco also realised that anyone else’s company wouldn’t be enough either, because nothing would ever live up to what they had. That had nothing to do with the fact Mario was amazing in bed (okay, maybe a little) and everything with the fact that Mario was way too precious to him.

“Seventeen days,” that same precious little piece of perfection said a few moments later.

“What?” Marco asked surprised, but then it dawned on him. Seventeen days until the friendly against Bayern. Until the friendly against Mario. He had played lots of friendlies against Mario, but those were really friendly friendlies, during practice or on the beach during breaks, when nothing had mattered. And even though Mario wasn’t likely to play on the twentieth of July, Marco felt like this friendly _did_ matter.

“Seventeen days from now,” Mario repeated. “We have a deal?”

Marco started grinning when he realised what the deal was. Seventeen days. That was little more than two weeks. He and his body could surely survive that. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first attempt at phone sex, please dont hate on me pls.


End file.
